


tell me another beginning

by ripplingtale



Category: King's Raid (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ripplingtale/pseuds/ripplingtale
Summary: There was no need to set fire to the wrong end.





	tell me another beginning

**Author's Note:**

> King's Raid belongs to Vespa and I, as a writer, didn't take any material profits from the content here. Esker is the moron and Lucias is the morosexual, change my mind.

Esker blew a sigh.

Silence crawled between the sounds of his steps encroaching the trail. Gaze turned to the sky, dices clacking in his hand. One step, clack, two steps, clack, three steps, clack. He tailed his own thoughts as he navigated through the path around brambles and thorns, looming trees and impending thicket; recounting the reason he was walking through the forest all in his lonesome.

Clack, clack, clack. Ophelia needed a hand, and it wasn’t like Esker was running out of time.

He just had to fetch her flowers. Simple enough. How many, how much, she forgot to tell, but Esker had two hands and magic intertwining his fingertips; how many should he fetch? He didn’t think he would count them one by one. He would just pluck anything until the petals were brimming out from his pocket, and blossoms peered down his sleeves.

It was a good thing he was fluent in this place, for he knew exactly where to get that much flowers. Perhaps, he should ask an exchange from Ophelia. Something valuable, Esker should think about that later. He walked this deep into the forest, after all, it was the energy that count, was it not?

A low hum slipped past his lips as his trail waned into a wider path. The trees parted into an open meadow, the wind sang freedom. The sun smiled upon him, greeting him a good day. The skies painted his eyes blue, white, midsummer whistling the end of its reign; Esker stepped from the shadow, into a field of flowers. Colours combusted before his eyes, the flowers sang, the leaves dances. Red, purple, yellow, blue flag lined with golden threads.

A blue flag, lined with golden thread.

Lucias’ eyes were a shade lighter than the lavenders, forget-me-nots, withered hydrangeas. He was kneeling in the side, distances away from the trail. The sun fell in his eyes, the skies rippled over his gaze. He turned before Esker could take a breath. Their stares met alike a cannon fired seconds too early, and the war scrambled to follow the count.

Esker wasn’t ready.

“Esker!” Always the fastest one, Lucias was. He was the one who grabbed Esker’s hands and dragged him to the side, bible opened, mouth upturned. Listen, he said to Esker beneath the chatters of passerby, Esker was sure Lucias could recite the bible with closed eyes by now. Trust Lucias to find Esker in the middle of the crowds, in the middle of the shadows, in the edge of the world no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many the universe has spun.

Yet, it had been so long. Trust Esker to fade away from Lucias in the middle of the crowd, in the end of dreams, in the beginning of reveries. Since when did they chase each other’s shadows? Or was it Lucias who chased after him? It wasn’t like Esker was hard to find. He was just hard to be found. Or so he told himself as he aimlessly frolicked with his dices.

Esker watched the Saint of Blessing rushed over, a little bit closer, would Lucias burn Esker with his presence? The latter was a sinner, after all. “Lucias,” Esker greeted, almost strained.

After all these years, he tried to imagine when would he be reunited with Lucias; around the Stardust tents as they camped in a nameless town, around the Orvel when Esker needed to rest, around nowhere, around somewhere. The small, old fishing rod tucked on his bag whispered the forgotten promises days and nights.

Lucias was still shorter, even if he didn’t wear his hood anymore. Too long strands of platinum hair mused by summer were falling around his eyes. The young priest thrusted his right hand to Esker’s face, his smile was wide, fingers folded back to the palm in a loose fist. There was something clinging on his knuckle, as big as his palm, if not bigger.

Esker blinked. His eyes focused at Lucias’ hand.

A pair of gleaming, black eyes stared back. The stag beetle moved closer to Esker’s face.

“Wha─!”

Lucias offered his hand, Esker took a step back. There was something akin to a whimsical tune in his voice as Lucias stated the obvious. “Stag beetle.” As if Esker didn’t know what he saw, as if Esker wasn’t currently undergoing an intense, traumatic nostalgia of Lucias shoving stag beetle in his face when they were still a pair of children playing behind Stardust’s camp.

And suddenly, the world stopped. The sun was a star, the skies were an expanse of endless lines. Esker was a child shrieking to a bug, Lucias was a child who thought a bug was a perfect gift for his friend who hated bugs. There was no flag, no red stigmata upon pale skin, no dices, no bets. There was nothing but Esker, Lucias, and a peculiar bond threaded around their fingers.

“Why!?” Esker yelped, inching farther away from Lucias’ hand, who kept stepping closer to him. Shivers ran down his spine when he felt the head of the beetle poked into his jaw. He could tolerate bugs more than earthworms, but not even the Illusion Gambler could keep calm having a bug shoved into his face without explanation.

“I found it,” Lucias said, in such way it justified anything.

The sun was still a star, the skies were still an expanse of endless lines. Esker was a young man shrieking to a bug, Lucias was a young man who thought pushing a bug to his friend who hated bugs was a perfect idea. There was a flag, red stigmata embedded over pale skin. There were dices, bets. There was a distance between Esker, Lucias, and a rusted bond threaded around their hands, chipped by time and distances, swallowed by the path they chose apart.

Satisfied with Esker’s reaction, Lucias finally lowered his hand. He kneeled down, shushing the bug back to wherever he plucked it from. Esker heaved a relieved sigh, hand pressing against his jaw. None of his imagination of meeting Lucias again would bring him to a stag beetle touching his face; at least, it wasn’t a worm. Esker didn’t know what should he do if it was a worm.

(Probably shrieking.)

Lucias patted the space just by his side as he sat, his smile was thin, small, reassuring. However, it was also far away, detached. Esker remembered how Lucias used to smile like that when he was fishing, absentmindedly humming a hymn. Esker remembered many things when it was Lucias. For he wasn't the Saint of Blessings, he wasn't the one whose mind crowded with voices, memories, afterlife, everything else that bubbling in Lucias' chest.

He wasn’t running out of time, yet. Esker sat beside Lucias.

“Where have you been?” Lucias gazed forwards, colours dancing on his irises alike candlelight, chandeliers, before eyelids fluttered closed in a thoughtful manner. Ray of sunshine peered down the thicket, trying to eavesdrop on a conversation of distanced presences. How are you? Where have you been? What are you doing nowadays? The world echoed the questions.

Esker paused. “Everywhere.” And now here. He knew Lucias knew where he has been. After all, both of them used to listen to the chatters of crowds, to the tattletales of passerby. Esker was just a tad better at it; turning their games into a weapon for him to survive when the nights had fallen. The only difference between them was to whom they listened to, for whom they put their trust in.

Lucias smiled. “I was everywhere, too.” He turned to look at Esker, fingers splayed on his cheek as he leaned on his palm. Lucias’ mind was a chirp in Esker’s head, silent whispers, alike sweet nothings murmured beneath one’s breath. Words after words stacked together and intertwining with one and another, mingling into a breath, heartbeat. Aah, it was hard to read the mind of someone with hundred memories and thousand virtues.

Their gazes met, again. This time wasn’t as a siren, wasn’t as a count of war. Lucias’ eyes were purple, blue, gleaming with life, with the idea of being alive. Esker’s eyes were rust, dust, all shades of ambers, brimming with nothing for he wiped his thoughts clean for people to read.

“Where will you go next?”

Lucias worded it in such way they would go together.

Esker took his time to think. Where would he go next? Technically speaking, he should be back to Stardust’s camp, for Ophelia and her flowers. It would be easier to say he would follow Stardust to wherever, even if it was a lie. After all, Stardust troupe was where his life began; should melancholia settle in, people would say Stardust troupe was Esker’s home.

Esker should come home.

But not to Stardust troupe. At the end of the day, Esker should come home to Lucias, the presence in where his story began. Coming home to Lucias would be his solace, his greatest pleasure, the only bet he wouldn’t think he could reach even in his wildest chances. Coming home to Lucias was a reverie, daydream, a sight amidst blowing smoke as sinners fanned the devil’s fire.

Esker should come home.

“I don’t know yet.” But Esker was home now. For a while. Sitting beside Lucias, overlooking a field of flowers tucked underneath an afternoon. Esker was home now. For a moment. He tapped one of his dice with his free hand, thumb tracing the surface. He wondered whether Lucias still had the dices that Esker carved for him once upon a time, in exchange of his fishing rod.

As he remembered Lucias was the Saint of Blessing, he turned the question. “You?”

Lucias chuckled, and the universe revolved around his eyes, his voice, his presence. How could there be a young man as blessed as Lucias? Sun was his eyes, moon was his voice, stars dripped from his words. How could there be a blessing as good as Lucias? Or was it Esker who was utterly blessed, to have had such a beautiful soul sitting an arm distance from him?

“I don’t know yet, too.”

No one knew whose finger touched the other’s first, glove against skin; for now, that would do.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had King's Raid for eighteen days and a half, but you can only pry Esker/Lucias from my cold, dead hands.
> 
> This is purely a character study based from the comic strip about Esker and Lucias' relationship. At first, I really wanted to make Lucias just throw a worm at Esker upon nowhere, but I don't think he has the heart to do it (the worm, not Esker).
> 
> This might be out of character, the references are scarce and they haven't come to my inn, yet; advice would be greatly appreciated! My take on their relationship is, they don't know where they stand with each other. The pining is mutual, but Esker is dumb, and Lucias is also dumb. They are a mess. A big, angsty mess. A big, angsty mess I can't wait to explore.
> 
> Big thanks to Frey who finished this two hours after I sent it, you're my lifeline.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope I can write more of them in the future.  
> 


End file.
